


Reignited

by scribensdracones



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys Targaryen-centric, F/F, Past Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Post-Canon, Resurrection, Slow Burn, Witchcraft, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-08 11:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribensdracones/pseuds/scribensdracones
Summary: Drogon set her down in the grass and did not leave – as though this story was not finished just yet. Something important, something grand was still to happen. And so he waited, and no coyote, no fox and no vulture dared to sit by the corpse of Daenerys Stormborn, just a few miles north of Pentos. Her fires would burn once more.





	1. Drogon: Reanimation

**Author's Note:**

> So, thank you for checking this out? This is based on roleplays and theoretical worldbuilding discussions with friends and.. yeah. Have mercy. Daenerys deserved better. I am not quite sure about how canon divergent this will be in regards to the previous seasons, but I am highly open to suggestions and wishes!  
> Yes, I know this chapter is short. I am mooostly testing the waters to see whether this is something people would be generally down to! x3

When the sea swallowed Drogon's brothers, their hearts have been one: grief, sorrow, fear, anger. When the knight died in her arms, he'd felt his mother's sorrow and her love and her grief and all the things she never said, like humans do. When she felt nothing but anger and despair, so did he. Their hearts were one, split into two. Yet half of his heart was silent now, stilled by betrayal. There she lay in the grass, his mother, his lover, his bonded, his rider. The emptiness Drogon felt had nothing to do with the freedom he'd enjoyed, away from her. For the first time, he could no longer feel her, and all that this connection meant. Her will, her feelings, her anger, her hopes, her grievances, her _fire_. Still, he did not leave – as though this story was not finished just yet. Something important, something _grand_ was still to happen.

And so he waited, and no coyote, no fox and no vulture dared to sit by the corpse of Daenerys Stormborn. Here, just a few miles south of Pentos, her story would continue.

The sun set and rose once more and Drogon raised his head slightly. The morning breeze carried the salt of the sea and the scent of a human. Hunger gnawed at his intestines, hunger and exhaustion, and still he sat by his mother's body valiantly. She was cold, and white, and did not budge when he pressed his snout against her side once more, as though the touch itself could bring her back somehow. It did not, and, with a roar of frustration, he took off, only to land on a rock a couple of feet away, the body of his beloved still well in his sight. The scent of death, of her dead, cold flesh, was almost unbearable.

Eventually, the scent carried by the wind was accompanied by a body, a lone rider. The horse stopped well away by a low tree, and Drogon watched the human fiddle around with the ropes they all needed to ride their horses. They had no bonds with them, not the way a dragon could bond with a human. Attentively, he watched the human approach alone, and his agitation grew with each step the stranger took towards him. Something great would happen, something greater than his hunger.

The human was a woman, with raven hair and dark clothes, and she stopped when Drogon growled, loud enough to be heard. Then, she continued her approach and he watched her kneel next to Daenerys' body. His claws dug into the dry, sparse grass as he approached them to see better. He felt magic in this stranger, the way he had felt it coming from the traitor and the woman in red. Mother, traitor, Firewoman. Stranger. They all shared this power he and his brothers were made of.

The woman touched the hilt of the knife, still in Daenerys' chest, and looked up questioningly. She must take the lack of reaction as permission, for she pulled the knife from the wound, and turned it in her hands thoughtfully. He could feel this woman's doubt, but also hope, and he placed his head down in the grass, keeping a watchful eye on her. Maybe this was what he felt he must wait for.

“Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Awaken. Daenerys the Unburnt, rise,” she said, slowly undoing the many braids, the only crown Daenerys got to wear. The movements of her hands were almost reverently slow, and the bloody dagger rested in her lap. “Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Awaken. Daenerys the Unburnt, rise.”

Drogon growled softly when the woman used Jon Snow's dagger to cut off a silver lock of hair, about four inches, yet a surge of magic manifesting soothed him, and replaced anger with a faint gleam of hope. The silver caught fire, and carefully, the woman placed the burning strand on top of the stab wound where the blade had pierced Daenerys' good, loving, bleeding heart.

“Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Awaken. Daenerys the Unburnt, rise,” she repeated as the scent of burning hair rose up, and she cut off another couple of inches from another strand of hair, which she set on fire and placed on Daenerys' chest once the previous one had burnt down.

_Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson, Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Awaken. Daenerys the Unburnt, rise_. She repeated this over and over, over and over, and the air was heavy with magic. The sun would set soon, and she kept repeating it, tireless, over and over, and the words rang in their heads and their hearts.

From one moment to the next, Drogon could feel it: a fire reignited, a flame that spread like wildfire. As Daenerys Targaryen took a deep, gasping breath, he roared into the evening, and the woman recoiled with a gasp of surprise as the no longer dead woman heaved for air as though she has almost drowned. The fires were back.

The Mother of Dragons was alive.


	2. Daenerys: Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh holy guacamole??? i am really overwhelmed by the positive reactions to the first chapter!!! And I am happy to share this story with you all. I am always accepting wishes and requests, and will try to accomodate to those as best as i can within the context of the plot!  
> And a huge, huge thank you for every single one of you who chose to comment!

Life. Life never had burned the way each gasp burned in her veins as though fire flooded her lungs and seeped into her veins. Coughing and wheezing, Daenerys became overwhelmingly aware of herself all at once. Daenerys wanted to scream, but the air was stuck in her lungs and came out as little but a breathless wheeze. From darkness she has been torn, frayed at the edges, torn apart and put together once more.

A plea, a kiss, a pain. The ashes of a city lost, the touch of a trusted hand, they all were gone, and she stared into the pink and golden skies of a sunset so far away from the gray day of victory that it felt like a somber, morbid dream altogether. Warmth wrapped around her as Drogon pressed his snout against her torso and she brought her hand up. Her fingers ran over the warm scales and tears welled up in her eyes. She was alive and Drogon was with her. A part of Daenerys felt as though she would hear Rhaegal and Viserion any second now – the flap of their wings, their gurgles and low-pitched yelps. Missandei would come up to her and run her hand through her hair, and Jorah would stand by and make sure no one would intrude on this blessed moment.

Dany was alive and for a couple of blissful moments, she felt as though things could be alright again. However, nothing would be alright. Softly, she pushed against Drogon's nostrils, and he followed the pressure with a fluid movement, pulling his head away from her gracefully. The sharp scent of burnt hair reached her nose as she sat up slowly. A wave of nausea came upon her, and her stomach churned.

Only now did she take in her surroundings – the yellowed grass, the evening sky... the woman who'd recoiled by a few feet, fearful of the dragon. They were alone in this desolate wilderness, and Daenerys struggled to read the emotions of this woman. Between fear, excitement, pride and pure joy, she could not tell which of these sentiments prevailed.

“You live. You _live_! You **live**!” The stranger's joy was exuberant, and her green eyes came alive with a fierce fervor that made Daenerys want to recoil instinctively. Zeal. Though this woman did not look like a Red Priestess – Drogon growled threateningly when the woman leaned in to move closer, and she stopped in her tracks, kneeling in the grass.

“Daenerys Stormborn, how do you feel?”, she asked, trying to rein in her almost childish excitement. Daenerys did not remember the last time someone has been this overjoyed to see her.  
“... Strange,” she admitted, and though she knew exactly what had happened to her... this knowledge did not feel _real_. Another queen was stabbed by her lover, another woman was brought back to life. “You. You did this, didn't you?”

The woman nodded and Daenerys brought a hand up to her chest. The fabric of her coat was ripped and singed, and her fingertips ran over a scar. The scar Jon Snow left when he stabbed her. She was not reborn in fire, and no people came to kneel before her, Daenerys the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Daenerys the Resurrected. She was alone with Drogon and this stranger.

“ _How_?” A simple question that drew a laugh from the green-eyed stranger. Of course, such a question was bound to be a difficult one to answer. Daenerys knew that Jon has been dead, brought down by cowardly treachery for his justified efforts. It boggled her mind, still.  
“How do dragons fly? How does the sun know when to rise? You willed the dragons to return to this world, I willed you to return among the living.”

The woman stood up first and extended her hand towards Daenerys – after a moment of contemplation, she took the offer. Her knees felt weak and her stomach churned, turning into an unpleasant, unladylike growl. Wordlessly, the woman crouched down and rummaged through her leather knapsack. Something wrapped in linen. Cautiously, Daenerys accepted the linen-wrapped package. Flatbread and a few strips of jerky, a meat she could not identify for certain. A standard meal for the Dothraki who spent most of their time traveling, often not setting up proper camp for days. “Thank you.”

She hated accepting the kindness of a stranger. The woman sat down in the grass, and Dany decided to do the same, caught by a wave of slight dizziness. “Thank you,” she repeated, and for a brief moment, she wondered how one was supposed to thank someone for bringing them back from the dead. “You seem to know who I am... I am not a Lannister, but I, too, always pay my debts. I will find a way to repay you.”

The enigmatic woman laughed softly, and amusement gleamed in her green eyes. In the light of the setting sun, Daenerys could make out sparks of red in the stranger's eyes. “At least in the Slaver's bay, one could put a price to a life quite easily, before you come along, Daenerys Stormborn. You can call me Ygerna, and I have hoped I could meet you.”

Even though the joke about slavery was downright terrible, Daenerys laughed anyway, simply because she did not remember the last time she heard anyone trying to tell a joke. Not one that did not leave her feeling like she herself was the pointe.

“Thank you, Ygerna. It seems you met me.”  
“Indeed, I meet you, at last. You are elusive, Daenerys Stormborn.”

 _What do you want from me?_ Of course, everyone wanted similar things. Power. Wealth. She was the rightful heiress to the Iron Throne, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Queen of Meeren, Yunkai and Astapor, the breaker of chains, the mother of dragons – she was many things, and to most people, she was a way to get the things they wanted for themselves. When Jon Snow's blade had pierced her heart... she understood that all of her hope has been in vain. His queen was all she could ever possibly be, and a part of her wanted to damn it for all it took from her.

Daenerys tore off a piece of flatbread and it took all of her self-control not to devour it hungrily. In the meantime, Ygerna deigned it appropriate to explain herself further: “You willed dragons back into existence, Daenerys Stormborn, and in doing so, you blurred the line between reality and volition. Magic runs through your veins. This magic that gave me the power to return you – I wish to understand it. You want to repay me for returning your life to you? Help me understand what makes you... _you_.”

That request sounded straightforward only at first glance – the warlocks of Qarth had wanted the same. Daenerys knew that she was tied to magic and she knew that she and her dragons affected those who wished to use it. Ygerna might have brought her back to life, but at what cost?

“You look critical,” Ygerna pointed out, and Daenerys cursed herself for not having paid enough mind to her facial expressions. She must not let her guard down. “I arrived in Meeren, hoping you might have use to someone who can offer counsel on matters of magic, only to find out that you set sail for Westeros one week prior to my arrival.”

Daenerys fell silent, not sure whether she should deny anything at all. Surely, if this woman had half an ounce of sense, she would understand that the dragon queen had to be wary of strangers and their intentions. Her whole life, people had tried to take advantage of her, after all.

“You know... the sun is setting. How about you return to Pentos with me, and tomorrow we talk?”, Ygerna offered, seemingly taking no offense in Daenerys' lack of reaction. Pentos... Dany's eyes widened slightly. She was in _Pentos_? So her journey really had taken her back to the start. Pentos, where Viserys had sold her off to the Khal. His words still rang in her head, his words, his touches, the way he looked at her, the way he threatened her whenever she as little as _thought_ of stepping out of line. But she was a changed woman now. Now, she was strong, and nothing would intimidate her anymore.

Daenerys felt empty and lost, but she was still unbroken, and her fires still burned bright and hot.

“Thank you for your offer,” she said and folded the linen into a neat square which she returned to Ygerna. This woman... Even though, outwardly, she was nowhere even half as threatening as the Dothraki who'd captured her, she knew better than to trust witches. The last time she had put her faith in one...

“I left my horse nearby,” Ygerna continued and stuffed the linen back in her knapsack before getting up from the grass. “Come with me, or figure out where to go on your own, Daenerys Stormborn. The choice is yours.”

Dany stood up as well and, now that she had eaten at least something, she felt much better. The sun was setting and she was no longer anyone. She was just a young woman with a dragon and a broken heart now. “One moment,” she said, and turned around to approach Drogon. He.. who had brought her here... as though he had known that this witch would stumble upon them. The pieces fell into place with an uncanny precision.

“Drogon,” she whispered, and he lowered his head down to her. Affection gleamed in his orange reptilian eyes and she ran her hand over the hot scales of his snout. He was not just a dragon, a weapon of mass destruction and war. He was her son. He was her everything, the last loved one she had left in the world. Slowly, Daenerys leaned forward, pressing her body against his snout between his nostrils into a hug. She wanted to stay here forever with him, she wanted to cry, and then stay with him, live off wild game he hunted for them, and never look back to all the things she had lost, and those who had taken them from her.

Alas, she could not. Forwards was the only way to go. Reluctantly, she pulled away. “You're all that I have left, Drogon,” she whispered and her hand lingered on him. “Take good care of yourself.” If she needed him, he would come, She knew that. Her heart felt heavy when he took off, and she watched him disappear into the distance before turning back to Ygerna. The sun had almost set.

Daenerys forced herself to smile. “Let us ride for Pentos, then.”

 


	3. Daenerys: Pentos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for every single coment! I did not want to harass anyone by replying to every single one, but if anyone has questions or wishes to discuss anything further, I would be very happy to do so!

Within several minutes, Daenerys had learned a couple of interesting things. For one, Ygerna was not good with horses – she could tell by the way she struggled to handled her brown gelding, spooked by the scent of the dragon, fire and death that clung to both of them. The Dothraki believed that horses were intelligent enough to be able to read the heart of those who tried to handle them, and thus, someone who was distrusted by horses, should not be trusted by people either. Daenerys still was not sure to which degree she was inclined to agree. Besides, Drogon had trusted this woman enough to let her near his mother's body, and the result was obvious.

Daenerys was not used to sharing a horse with someone, lest of all sit behind them. She'd told Ygerna not to force the gelding to gallop- he had to carry the weight of two riders, after all. The full moon stood high above them by the time Daenerys could see the walls of the city, sprawling out towards the bay. She remembered it well, though she had only spent a year there. It seemed like ages ago. The woman she was now had nothing in common with the shy girl who wanted to go to a home she never had, to a red door and a lemon tree. Then why did she feel a sudden wave of anxiety? She always must look forward, never back, or else she would be lost.

Ygerna brought the horse to a stop and pulled off her black scarf. “Here, you might want to cover that wound.” Daenerys took the piece of fabric and placed it over her head, covering her signature silver hair, and made sure it was draped in a way that would cover both the ripped fabric above her heart as well as the dragon pin. Not that she believed anyone here would recognize her – still, it would be best not to raise any questions.

They were stopped at the gates and Ygerna pulled a tightly rolled-up parchment from her pouch. One of the weathered guardsmen reached for the paper, and though Daenerys could tell that he was not actually reading, he did recognize the sigil placed at the bottom of the parchment.   
“Your employer made no mentions of other people,” he said harshly, and Ygerna grasped at the reins tighter. “This is my apprentice, Daanara of Lys.”  
Daenerys had learned many things in the past years, when to keep quiet was one of them. She would let Ygerna handle the matter, if possible.  
“Your employer made no mentions of apprentices,” the man snorted and Daenerys could feel his eyes on her – he was appraising her, the way men loved to appraise women, as though he wondered what he could demand in return for free passage into the city.

“Will you insult the guest of Magister Syroquo Brenyl by doubting my sincerity?”, Ygerna asked firmly, raising her voice enough for the other soldiers to hear them as well. “Then take us to him and he will have you whipped for daring to bother him with this matter, and for importuning someone under his protection!”

She could see the gears churning behind his reddened forehead, and finally, the man stepped aside. Yes, Dany remembered the near absolute power of the Magisters. A common soldier would not dare annoying them. She smiled sweetly as Ygerna pushed her heels into the horse's sides to drive him forward.

The gate closed behind them and they rode through the near-empty streets of Pentos' upper district, reserved to the most powerful and wealthiest men of the free city. One of these large, palace-like estates belonged to Illyrio Mopatis, though she could not remember which one. She also did not remember whether the name of Ygerna's employer rang a bell or not. She's heard so many names over the past years, she already forgot most of them. Most of them did not matter.

A pair of guards stopped them at another gate, but allowed them to pass, greeting the witch as 'Mistress Ygerna'. “It's very decent, isn't it?”, the woman asked as they trotted over the walkway that led through the garden. Not quite as impressive as the gardens of Magister Mopatis, but still, it must be beautiful by daylight. They rode up to the small barn where the magister kept two other horses, and Daenerys got off first. Ygerna slipped off horseback too, though she did so with far less grace than someone who had spent much time with the Dothraki.

Daenerys almost rolled her eyes when Ygerna started taking off the saddle without making sure that her horse was hitched well, and took the gelding's reins to keep him in place while the witch unsaddled him. They left him on the small paddock with the other two horses. Ygerna noted that the stable boy could take care of him in the morning. For now, he seemed glad enough to be rid of the riders and the gear.

Finally, they could go inside. Daenerys was growing weary and she wished she could lie down and rest her head, close her eyes and be gone. Maybe for a few hours, or maybe forever. They entered the manor through the back entrance. A single light was lit in one of the rooms, light fell from the open door and into the hallway. The kitchen, Daenerys assumed.

Ygerna stopped in the doorway. “Allyn. I returned with a guest.” She spoke to a young woman, dark hair and copper skin, and large, amber eyes. She wore a bronze collar that stirred a wave of annoyance in Daenerys. Though officially, the pentosi had no slaves... These people in their bronze collars were slaves in all but name. Curiously, the woman looked at her and Daenerys returned the look with a gentle smile. “Bring us some food to my room, we are exhausted from the long ride,” the witch continued.  
“Yes, Mistress Ygerna,” the girl said with a polite nod, still eyeing Daenerys with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

“Come,” Ygerna said softly, and her fingers brushed over Daenerys' wrist to gesture for her to follow. The ascended a flight of stairs, quietly, down a hallway, up another flight of stairs. Left. Up the stairs. Right. Second left, up the stairs, right, straight, left. She tried to memorize the path they took – there was no way of telling whether she might need to be able to follow it on her way out.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a heavy, oaken door and the witch opened it with a rusty key. Even before she set a single foot into the room, she was met with the almost overwhelmingly heavy scent of various plants, hung up to dry along the walls and the ceiling. Daenerys looked around curiously while Ygerna slipped out of her boots first. “Take off your shoes, will you?”, she asked and Daenerys saw no reason not to comply. She took off her boots and the cowl. The stone floor was quite warm against her bare feet. Of course, to heat your home was one of the ways one could display wealth, after all. She was unaware of similar mechanisms of heating back in Westeros, and was not sure whether hot steam would be able to keep up against the harsh frost of winter anyway.

Daenerys glanced over the desk, covered with scrolls, stones and various nicknack, on to the shelves full of glass containers with unidentifiable contents. She glanced at the recliner, occupied by a grey cat that watched them lazily. “Is it yours?”  
“Huh? Ah. The cat. No. My employer keeps several cats in this house to keep pests at bay. Here.” Ygerna offered her a bundle of fabric, which Daenerys recognized as a dressing gown of dark grey linen. She really must look quite battered. “If you... want to change into something more comfortable.”   
Daenerys gave an appreciative nod. How much time had passed since the battle of King's Landing? When Jon Snow pierced her heart with his dagger, what happened to him? What happened to him and the Unsullied? The Dothraki? The people? Absent-mindedly, she undressed in front of the mirror set up at the small vanity table. The dark linen felt a bit scratchy on her skin, and it was a little too short for her, given that the witch easily stood a head taller than her.

“You know, folklore says that only two creatures can feel fonts of magic: dragons and cats. They know places of power, and they know people who can draw upon them,” Ygerna mentioned casually, getting changed into something more comfortable herself, from the sound of it. Daenerys approached the recliner and sat next to the grey cat carefully. She wondered whether this was the reason Drogon had allowed the witch to approach her body at all. Had he felt the magic in her, then? Softly, she reached out to scratch the cat's head and she was rewarded with a content purr that brought a genuine smile to her face. When everything was an unholy mess, one must appreciate the small things.

A polite knock on the door. Ygerna had not finished getting dressed, but that did not stop her. “Enter.” The door opened and the servant girl from downstairs came in, carrying a tray. She must have used her elbow to open the door.   
“I brought food,” she said and Ygerna took the tray from the girl's hands. “Thank you, Allyn. Good night. You should go and get some rest.” The girl named Allyn nodded and turned around to leave. She closed the door and Ygerna set the tray down on top of some notes on her desk. Finally, some food. Daenerys felt like she was starving. The bread and jerky she'd received hours ago barely has been more than a drop of water on a hot stone.

“Here. There you go.” Ygerna handed her a bowl of stew, still lukewarm. It was nothing special, but in this moment, hungry as she was, Daenerys could not remember having felt better about food than now. Not in many years, at least. She placed the bread on the chaise next to her, and the grey cat sniffed at it curiously before deciding that it was not worth paying attention to.

“What happened in Westeros? After I … died...?”, Daenerys asked before picking up her wooden spoon again. Ygerna shrugged and stirred through her stew.   
“I don't know. News do not travel that fast. I assume it has happened a few days ago so... news will start coming in anytime soon, I presume.”

Of course. Ships took time to cross the Narrow Sea, and from there, word would spread eventually, though Daenerys doubted this would be any more than some anecdote. Oh, the Mad Queen burned down King's Landing, did you not hear? They did not know any better, did not understand that all she did was for the good of the people, the greater good that was worth everything.

“And you? How did you end up with a dagger in your heart?”, Ygerna asked curiously, though there was also a hint of mischief that gleamed in her green eyes.   
Daenerys wished she had not asked that. She thought of her children. Viserion... Jorah... Rhaegal... Missandei... Westeros had taken everything from her and the mere thought made her sick. Tragedy and loss, betrayal and pain. She lost everything – Drogon was the only one left. What happened to her armies? The Unsullied and the Dothraki? What about Jon? What about her throne?

This was the first time she truly did not know what to do and where to go. A heavy breath. No. She must not cry. Ygerna might have resurrected and brought her here, but she could not just trust her that easily. Not when she did not even know what the witch would want in return.

“I cannot speak about it. Not now, not now, when the wounds are fresh. Great tragedy and loss has led up to it all.” This was all she was willing to say for now, and the witch nodded sympathetically.

“Well.. it is late, and I am tired. You did just return from the land of the dead so... You can just chase the cat off the chaise, that's okay. And I should have a blanket somewhere here. I'll talk to my employer about giving you the adjacent room here... I mean... if you want to stay for a while. I assume you will need some time to recover.”

And figure out what to do. Even though Ygerna did not say that last bit aloud, Daenerys could imagine she was thinking exactly that. Sadly, she was right. 

“Thank you, Ygerna.” Daenerys smiled in earnest this time and ran her hand through the cat's soft, grey fur. “I think this recliner is large enough for the two of us, right, kitty?”   
The cat meowed and Daenerys giggled in a fit of helpless glee. 

 


End file.
